To at last be indestructible, a poemmust first glow, almost flammable, upona thing inert, as gray, as dull as stone,

then bend this way and that, and slowly coolat arm’s-length, something irreducibledrawn out with caution, toughened in a pool

of water so contrary just a hissescapes it—water instantly a mist.It writhes, a thing of senseless shapelessness ...

And then the driven hammer falls and falls.The horses ***** their ears in nearby stalls.A soldier on his cot leans back and smiles.

A sound of ancient import, with the ringof honest labor, sings of fashioning.

Published by The Chariton Review, The Eclectic Muse, Trinacria, Poetry Life & Times, and Famous Poets and Poems

NOTE: This is a sonnet about forging sonnets. The gray "anvil" is the human brain. The fiery "glow" is the poetic imagination. The cooling and shaping are the process of revision. The hammer is the poet's pen, producing order out of chaos. Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, poem, indestructible, irreducible, hammer, anvil, forge, labor, fashioning, shape, smithy, blacksmith, ironworker, sword, pen

My pain, my oathThe life I define as a growthTo battle heart with yoursIs to sink and pourA feeling, melded in meaningStruggle to see and believeThe life of yours I perceiveTo be other than my ownIs a hollow stretch I have sownItch of the blacksmith to earn it as wholeTo forge a love in nothing but coalBurn it in my furnaceAnd power my machinesKnowing your fire is nothing but mean

The cold of hard ironYou build the spire of which I admireA cold influx of emotionAnd a career where you found devotionChill the metal and make yourself periodicAnd I will craft you into something more sporadicA metal meant for warPassion of the sheathe you woreTo do nothing but settle a scoreOf who's love boreThe scandalous prize of moreOr more.

My life is in ironForged in the heart of the pyreI am the one who builds this nightmareThe weapons that do nothing but fare as a weaponized liarA battle I perpetuateAnd a soul I can not consulateBut to make up for with a paymentI will ignore you persistent ailmentAnd follow my own pathAs the blacksmith, ignorant of your goalsFought under oath it do help the sociopathBut rather show the animosity of it's written scrolls

Admittedly, I wasn't even sober for this one. Creativity is wonderful when uninhibited.

The sun has barely risen. The birds; already signing. Today is the day I must forget the fact that you've been missing. I am the queen, I do this on my own. Never will a peasant tread near my royal throne. My princess lost her father, but he would never lose his daughter. We share an unbreakable bond, yours was temporary and weak like solder. You melt away, never to be seen,When the temperature rises; we could never be a team. Send me the blacksmith, a real, strong man. One who's not afraid to burn his hands. Surely he'd know, I can heal his wounds.How would you though? You left so soon. To you, the queen will always be Mother.You have no need for me, a more than significant other.Today is the day I let it all go.You'll never forget, that this is my show.

Having summoned an Uber I walked Into the Remise to await for its arrival.Unusual, the owners of this 1750’s buildingHad refused to knock down the RemiseAnd as it was snowing and cold it sure wasA comforting place to wait out of the weather.

I imagined how it must of looked in its heydayFull of fine coaches and horse tack.For a moment I could smell a horse all bridledAnd strapped with new leather – something whichStirred up an agreeable sensation within me;I could feel the churlish beast chomping at the bit.

Twiddling my thumbs as I waited I wondered ifThere were anyone left to construct such an ancientHorse drawn carriage or was there even anyone left Who could ever think of using it.But as oft I do I let my mind wander to Those good old days, though not one of which I knew.

Closing my eyes, I swear that I could smell the oak fireOf a blacksmith’s furnace and I could hear theGent solidly hammering out a new set of gaited horseshoes.In my minds eye I could see the Remise allFull of carriages, each hooked to a fine stead -What a grand sight it must of truly been.

It was then that I felt a hand in mine and when I Turned toward the hand – to my wandering eye -I had a hold on the most intriguing creature that GodHad ever given a man to hold, I dared not open my eyes.She looked into my soul and asked me,“Sir, which carriage?”

At about 8 paces in front of us was what I supposeWas the best equipped of the lot and as its driverStepped down and made his way toward me/usI noticed the lady was as taken with it as myself.So Monsieur De La Dessein – the driver – or at Least that was how he introduced himself,

Then he asked me if we cared to take the Grand Tour.He led us up to the door of the chaise and as he openedThe door I said, “This one will not do,It is hardly big enough for one.”The lady, without hesitation, pushed me toward theDoor whispering, “Get in.”

Upon her insistence I climbed aboard taking upAll but about 4 inches of the seat cushionWhen the lady put her head and foot in theCarriage saying, “Move over.”With no place to move I tilted up on one cheekWith my legs – one atop of the other.

Now my lady was climbing in full bodied and allTo find that she too must sit on one cheek facing meWith our knees knocking against each other.The driver shut the door as the lady said, “Abarth.”The horse sprang to life as the “La Grand Tour” began.Face to face, body to body this buggy ride was …

How should I say it ….

Wonderful….

And then I did the stupidest thing that I’d ever done.I opened my eyes to find the Remise empty -No carriages, no horses, no blacksmith and no ravishing beauty.Just an empty place to get in out of the weather.My heart sank lower than it had ever been before.What mind is this that can wander so ****** far from reality?

A little tiny car whipped into the Remise and right in front of meIt turned a half moon pulling up to me.I noticed the labeling on the front of the car – Fiat.The back windows were all blacked out.The driver got out coming toward me on the passenger side.As he opened the back door I asked him what kind of car this was.

He said it was a Fiat Abarth and he hoped that I didn’t mind sharing the ride.As I bent over peering inside the driver said his name“Monsieur De La Desein” and sitting on One cheek in the back of this mutant automobileWas – that intriguing creature that I had just dreamed about.

Carefully – more expertly this time – I crawled intoThe back – on one cheek – face to faceAs the Uber driver asked me, “Where to.”In perfect unison – we in the back replied“La Grand Tour please.”